


Unlocking Doors

by aerye



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:30:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerye/pseuds/aerye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was originally started under Kink Bingo for the square "locked door." Finished under the Ten in Ten meme.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Unlocking Doors

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally started under Kink Bingo for the square "locked door." Finished under the Ten in Ten meme.

Bodie slammed his left shoulder into the door. Thick and heavy, made of iron and wood in the previous century, it didn't budge, but some of the dirt and dust covering the doorframe shook loose, drifting down over his face and shoulders. He straightened and shook his head, and dragged his forearm across his eyes, trying to wipe away the grit, and then made another lunge at the door, grunting as his shoulder made contact again.

" _Bodie_ —"

He went in for a third time, and then again, and then again, and then he suddenly straightened, stood back, and went at it with his foot, pounding his heel against the lock.

"Bodie, would you stop—"

"I can feel it starting to give, Doyle—"

"That's your ankle starting to give, you bloody idiot—that door's at least ten centimeters thick and half made of iron. Give it a rest before you hurt something. No good if both of us are broken."

Bodie gave the door one last half-hearted slam with the side of his fist, and then came back to where Doyle sat on the cold concrete floor, his back against the stone wall. Bodie levered himself down beside him, careful not to jostle Doyle's right arm, bundled up in an improvised bandage made of Bodie's vest and a sling made from Doyle's shirt. His own head ached from where he'd been hit with something hard. "How's the arm?"

"Just dandy, what'y'da think?" Doyle's voice was steady but there was a strong undercurrent of pain.

"Better or worse than the leg?"

Doyle snorted, then used the hand on his uninjured arm to help ease his right leg into a more comfortable position. "No. Yes. What'd'ya think, Bodie? One's broken and one's got a bullet in it. Both pretty useless."

"Shouldn't have tried to take on four of 'em by yourself, should you?"

"Had to take what was left. You were only keeping two of 'em busy."

"Yeah, well—mine were bigger." Bodie got up on his feet again, walked around the four walls. Wherever they were, it was damp, the moisture dewing on the walls. It was cold, would get colder.

"It's same four walls, Bodie. Nothing's moved since last time you did a walk around."

Bodie looked over. Doyle's color wasn't good; he was pale and sweating, the hand on his uninjured arm clenching and unclenching with the pain.

"Here." He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over him.

"I don't need coddling," Doyle said irritably. "And it's on its way to freezing in here already."

It was. Bodie could already feel the cold settling in under his shirt. He shrugged. "Always been a warm-hearted bastard, haven't I?"

"Bastard, maybe..." 

"You wound me, Doyle. Truly, you do. Shove over again," he said, although he was careful not to jostle anything as he sat again. "Think they've forgotten us?" he asked, more to keep Doyle talking than out of any belief that their captors had.

"Nah. Just don't think they reckon we'll last long enough to come back and finish off." Doyle's breath caught and his knuckles turned white. "Afraid they might be right, Bodie."

"The old man would call you on the carpet for that one."

Doyle leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Yeah, well—he's a bastard, too."

Bodie forced out a laugh. Doyle turned his head and peered at him through one eye, before his lips slowly curved into a smile as well. "Ah, Bodie…"

"Doyle." And they'd never done this before, although it had always been there between them, so that when he reached out and cupped a hand at the back of Doyle's head, it felt strange and perfectly natural at the same time. "Ray." And he turned and tugged Doyle's head down to his, finding his mouth soft and wet and open, ready for Bodie's kiss.

"So that's your plan," Doyle said softly. "Scare the horses?"

Bodie chuckled. "Maybe."

They sat silently for a moment, Bodie's hand still resting at the nape of Doyle's neck. "You still got those bullets?" he asked suddenly.

"S'not like anyone's been in here to take them off me. Why," Doyle's head lifted. "What are you thinking?"

"Not thinking anything yet. Just—bullets have gunpowder in 'em, right?"

"S'only three bullets, Bodie."

"It's an old door, Doyle. And I'm a clever lad." Bodie grinned. "Hand them over son."

Later, after the tiny explosion and the somewhat bigger fire, after repeated applications of brute force and a trek down the stony hillside in the dead of night—and later still, after they finally made their way back to the small village in which this had all started two long days ago, and a smaller pub full of locals who eyed them placidly and with little interest, as if injured and bloody CI5 agents were an everyday occurrence. After Bodie had roused the local doctor and delivered Doyle into his care, demanded the use of a phone, and Cowley and a team had descended and picked up on the trail Bodie laid out for them—later, after all of that, Bodie made his way to the doctor's house, where he found Doyle cleaned up and patched on a narrow bed in a spare room.

"Didn't do his leg any good, you delaying getting him to me for treatment," the doctor greeted him immediately.

Doyle grinned at him from his bed.

"No, no—s'not me you need to make your apologies to, son," the doctor said, cutting Bodie off as he was about to point out that there had been a few things like locked doors and armed terrorists mucking up the plan a bit. "It's him you should be saying your sorrys to. You," he turned back to Doyle, who quickly smothered his grin, "make sure you see a good surgeon, soon as you get to London. Well," he looked from Doyle to Bodie, "I'll leave you two to talk. Ten minutes, no more," he said, looking askance at Bodie. "He needs his rest."

"Thank you, Doctor," Bodie bit out the words. "Thank you very much, Doctor," he added with a bow, as soon as the door closed behind him, "and you can just—"

"Bodie!"

Bodie turned and walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge. "So you're going to live, eh?"

"Seems like."

"Good." Bodie leaned over him, twisting his hand in his hair and lowering his mouth.

"Bodie. Bodie, I need my rest." Bodie could feel his grin against his mouth. " _Bodie_."

"Oh, you go right on and rest, Ray. Don't mind me. If you can," he added with a growl, and set about making his kisses as hot and sweet and distracting as he could.


End file.
